Dementia
by Dark Glass Marionette
Summary: There's no way to escape the Marker's reach, not even if it's been destroyed. Isaac has to cope with his experiences on Aegis7; as he rises from the darkness, others may very well fall in his place. *Three-shot, rated T to be safe*
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **This idea had been floating around in my mind, bugging the hell out of me, until I've decided to posted it up in FF. It's posted in dA, where the sucky and unrevised version is, so the good one is here. I hope you guys enjoy it; it's taken me a long time to get back to this one.

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dead Space; copyright goes to Visceral Games.**

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**Dead Space: Dementia**

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I

Dead or Alive?

Whether he was dead or alive... he didn't know.

What he did know was that he'd gotten out of there, that his head was still on his shoulders, that it was all over. He was still breathing; that was all he cared about. No Markers to give importance to, no necromorphs, no Unitology, no hallucinations or visions... nothing. Isaac didn't even care about his own mind in fact, having stopped for a moment to think and let it all go. His sanity had been an unwitting accomplice of all the memories and sensations he was trying to forget. It wasn't on his side anymore. Rationality didn't accompany insane men, no matter how sane they thought themselves to be.

Exhausted, with the low rumble of the shuttle in the background, Isaac fell back against the pilot's seat, finding solace in the functionality of the shuttle's controls. He hadn't even set a course yet. As long as the shuttle drifted away from Aegis7, it was all right; space had been his home almost all his life. And though he'd lived through a blood-filled macabre hell in the pitch-black dark, he had never enjoyed darkness as much as now. Little could he see of the rest of the shuttle, but that didn't matter: what he really wanted to see was space, its stars and galaxies and nebulae; many of its infinite inventory of gems.

All of a sudden a holographic display came up from the projector on his chest, showing him Nicole's weary visage as she started speaking. How many times had he already watched her recording? How many times had he already heard her trembling voice, looked into her lackluster and darkened eyes? For a moment, Isaac wished she was there. Her ultimate fate was unknown to Isaac so far and one part of his mind theorized she could've very well become a necromorph... or was there an even worse fate than that? What fate worse than that one could befall someone? Death, perhaps? Or maybe insanity? They were all of the same magnitude.

Before Nicole's message could replay, Isaac stopped the recording and hid the holographic panels from view, leaving himself to ponder in the dark. For the umpteenth time he tried to cope with all that had transpired: the Ishimura, Hammond, Mercer, Kyne, the Hive Mind, Kendra... Nicole. His instincts told him to let go of her and her memory, that Nicole Brennan was no more; the other part, his subconscious, that which had believed Nicole had been alive all along, refused to comply. He could thank fate for leaving him alive; too bad Isaac didn't hold fate on a very high regard.

Silence kept ringing in his ears as light suddenly came; with it, came sound. In fact, just around the moment when Isaac was about to let sleep take him, a noise caught his attention. Apprehension came: what or who could be there with him? In mere milliseconds he discarded the first alternative. Slowly, with hesitation, Isaac looked to his right, discerning a small something or someone crouching behind the other seat. For a brief moment he became paralyzed as an alarm went off in his head. It was both a something and _someone_.

It didn't take him long to scream.

He screamed almost at the top of his lungs at the same time a high-pitched wail came from the creature as it leaped towards him. Out of sheer horror and shock, Isaac shielded his face with his arms, expecting to feel the weight of the creature upon him and send him down Death's lane. The creature kept wailing, threatening to leave him deaf, but how Isaac was left was far from deaf: he was _speechless_. His body and the creature's never made contact but in just a few seconds, Isaac would see what- no, _who_ that monster was. With wide eyes, Isaac focused on its graying face and blank eyes that seemed to look nowhere.

That monster was Nicole.

Then, signs, echoes, cacophonies, roars, yells, calls, despair... and pain.

Isaac suddenly found himself on the floor, lying upside down with no deformed Nicole trying to kill him, no last slivers of his life flashing before his eyes, no whispers or voices telling him about death and its inevitability. Nevertheless he remained unmoving, his gaze wide beyond its limit. Icy sweat trickled down his face, his ragged breathing became harsher; even forcing his chest to rise was agonizing. The hallucination remained burned into his mind like a mark inflicted with a red-hot coal, it kept flashing before his eyes with no reason and no coherence, hearing the unrelenting wails become stronger and stronger by the minute.

With faltering willpower, Isaac crawled away from the control panels as well as he could, his limbs trembling and his muscles feeling like rusty cogs that didn't turn properly because of their lack of oil. He'd worked with machines his whole life, so he knew very well when to compare himself with one. This was one of those moments when he saw himself like an old robot which was unable to make its body work because of non-turning cogs and processor failure.

_A processor, a mind: mind failure, insanity, insanity, madness, irrationality-_

A hard throbbing in the back of his head told him he hadn't come unscathed, especially the metallic taste in his mouth and a warm something making its way down his nape and seeping through the fabric of his engineer suit. Not only the taste made his current headache get worse, but it also caused his stomach to wretch violently, so much it forced Isaac to make way to nothing more than bile, saliva and blood. Isaac couldn't hold himself any longer; painful shivers wracked his body as he attempted to wipe his cracked lips, but not even his fingers would keep stable. In the end the shivers transformed into convulsions so intense he found himself holding onto dear life... and that those attempts would prove futile. He'd eventually die being unable to do anything against it.

_You're insane, Isaac._

As one last cough tortured Isaac's throat, he pulled himself up onto his elbows and lifted his head with unimaginable difficulty. He needed to see something now, something, someone; his mind screamed at him to see something else than darkness and hear more than the ship's low rumble, but what could he do against that? Locked up in a shuttle and going insane were two situations that came hand in hand: fighting against one would only nurture the other. Isaac felt as if a hand was literally twisting his stomach and lungs around, leaving him in a pitiful and lamentable state. But at last, the pain went away.

Still shaking, he brought himself up to his feet and leaned against the wall to find support. His heavy breathing echoed throughout the shuttle, an echo that left Isaac horrified and with a rather uncomfortable sensation of paranoia. The echo only seemed to transform into a cacophony of voices that spoke phrases he didn't understand but was still familiar with. Isaac madly scanned the ship in search of the slightest of vibrations, finding himself tightly clutching the handle of his cutter, so much he was sure his palm would bleed. Paranoia made him even sicker to his stomach, but there was nothing else to let out. He remained tense for an unknown period of time, the tension bringing back the agony he'd somehow thought extinct, but he didn't care.

What only mattered to him now was his own survival.

_Keep calm, Clarke, keep calm..._

His nature as an engineer required he had a cool head in no matter what kind of situation. But right now, that nature was gone, extinguished, _dead_. Isaac couldn't find his strength to think, calm down and deduce a solution. He slid down onto the floor, his shoulders drooping. He felt hot tears down his face. He'd survived countless hordes of creatures that had ignored all natural law and had brought Hell upon space, and just thinking about it again made him cringe and shake his head in an attempt to erase the images from his mind: images of blood, carnage, despair, fear and death; every single emotion manifested through many forms. The necromorphs' wails, screeches and roars rang in his ears once more all at the same time as a blood-curdling and harmonious cacophony. Isaac couldn't make _sane_ sense of _anything_.

The tears he cried were not just of sorrow but of indomitable rage and desperation that continuously bloomed inside him, and he held nothing back. After a while, he lost track of time. Isaac then brought his knees up to his chest and gradually calmed down with silence as his always-present companion, silence that was akin to a song that almost achieved to drive him down sleep lane. He knew what it meant to be alone; he just hadn't imagined it'd be so hard to cope with, never imagined its taste would be so bitter, so pleasant. Sorrow lingered, but what was the most frightening thing was how heavy his mind felt, as if something was filling his skull and applying an unthinkable pressure on his brain till there would be nothing more than pain to focus on.

_**Keep us whole.**_

_Not those phrases again, no, no, no, n-_

_**Death is only the beginning.**_

_No, please, just let it all die away, take it, take it, take it away-_

He couldn't line up his incoherent thoughts, which ran with the speed of a train about to derail, yet he couldn't do anything in his growing state of apathy.

The phrases of Unitology seized his mind. They were like the webs of insanity's astoundingly marvelous spider. Every time one of the web's strings seemed to vibrate, voices came back and slung a blindfold over his eyes. Blind... being blind meant being vulnerable, easily influenced and easily manipulated. His conscience came knocking: hadn't the Marker been left in Aegis7 so that it met its destruction? What about the voices then? He'd accepted them already but why not wonder where they came from? They were threads that stretched infinitely, never to let him go.

Consequently and inevitably, Isaac was being pulled along deeper into the sea of madness which had currents too strong to fight against and in which it was too easy to drown.

"If only I could've seen you once more, Nicole..." he breathed out. "It's all just... because of that fucking piece of rock!"

_A fucking piece of rock I was manipulated into bringing back to the Colony... Insane Unitologist shit-_

_'And who's the insane one now? Hallucinations, paranoia, and now this. Wonderful.'_

As much as he dreaded it, Isaac had to agree his own mind was right about itself. He'd already assumed he'd left most of his sanity scattered around the Ishimura and Aegis7 after escaping from death itself, which had morphed into many forms so that it haunted him even in his dreams... if he were to have them again. Strangely enough, that hunch that struck him made him smile a dark grin of amusement, all because of his not-so-intensive thinking. With the same grin across his blanched features, Isaac took his hands to his head, shedding more tears as at the same time he laughed. Between chuckles, he said,

"You should see me right now, Nicki; it's just unbelievable..." As he talked, Isaac noticed the floor gleaming faintly with a deep shade of red. He waited, curious, and then watched as symbols revealed themselves to be _all over _the shuttle, symbols that proved to be familiar and drew him deeper into curiousness and fear. They looked finely carved into the surfaces of the transport, as if it had taken years to carve till they were a work of fine art.

_The perfect façade to hide shit and lies from view._

They were Unitologist symbols: the Marker's.

_Yet another piece of evidence of its everlasting fondness for me. _Sarcasm was something never to be ignored.

Once more mesmerized like the first time, Isaac ardently tried to decipher their meaning despite not having been in much contact with Unitology. He thought and pondered and reasoned, drawn into a world where nothing else but the symbols existed, a world where the symbols were its only component and where order didn't matter. Isaac knew he was unable to read what words the symbols were pieced up into; however, he continued to glance in all directions and admired their eerie majesty with piqued interest and something akin to hysteria.

_**Altman Be Praised.**_

_**We Shall Ascend.**_

_**Make Us Whole.**_

Amongst the endless sea of signs, he could make out those all-too familiar and repetitive phrases of Michael Altman's religion, one Isaac knew had sent countless people to die but one he felt obliged to follow. Why so if he disliked Unitology so much, hated it with all his might after it had taken his family away? Despite that intense hatred, despite Unitology being twisted and loathsome, Isaac came to think it was anything but. Maybe a path to follow so understanding came to him, maybe a path formed by steps that could lead him to enlightenment... Then he read _the _phrase and understood its meaning, which mesmerized him the most... in a rather macabre way, as if he were an infant admiring the world for the first time after his birth.

_**The nightmare is over but it will not end.**_

His heart beating quickly, Isaac laughed at the foolishness of the phrase that transformed into a constant, resonating thought with its own voice. It was all so ironic: he was becoming what he had always fought against, what he had always directed his hatred towards... But still, he had to admit it felt good, _strangely_ good even, yet all that triumph and moments of macabre joy would be short-lived.

"_Isaac, it's me... and now I can talk to you."_

With a deep gasp, Isaac perked up his head, staring into the black nothingness whilst at the same time trying to digest what he'd just heard. Nicole... again? _Alive_? No, she couldn't be; Isaac had understood and finally accepted she had been an illusion created by the Marker all along... The eerie silence made Isaac hold his breath, keeping an eye out for any movement or source of sound. Tense, he sprung to his feet, glanced at the front of the flight deck, then the back, then the front again-

-only to find Nicole occupying one of the two seats, a gentle smile upon her weary, pale features.

Making no sounds or saying no words, Isaac, who didn't feel any surprise at the sight, stared at Nicole with noticeable and intense apathy. No words came from Nicole either and she held his stare with a cold one of her own. Eventually, she tilted her head like a curious young child staring at its parent, making him aware of the message she was trying to send him. Isaac just closed his eyes and shook his head with disappointment, disappointment not directed towards Nicole but towards himself. He scolded himself due to his foolishness; how could he _still_ believe she was alive?

_What's happening to me?_

His vision was suddenly fogged by a crimson mist that felt cool and moist against his skin as if he were standing right under a blood rain. Isaac tried to move his head away from Nicole and with sudden, morbid dread he realized he was frozen, rooted to the spot. The wave of sounds that came next was disgusting: flesh being ripped open with wet snaps, dripping blood, a heart beating faintly, more and more by the second... It reminded him of convulsing bodies about to transform into a necromorph.

Only that the convulsing body was his.

_**Death is a necessary step into Ascension.**_

_**Let us be One.**_

_Voices... the Marker's!_

_**Convergence is nigh!**_

His gaze still fixed on Nicole, Isaac tried to speak and ask Nicole what -_the hell!_- was going on, but not even air climbed up his trachea: he couldn't breathe. All main functions had stopped save for heartbeat and brain activity; if not, how could he still be conscious? How could he still be _alive_?

"_That's not a question that depends on your conscious state, Isaac, but a question you should ask yourself."_

That voice was Nicole's. Agony came back, this time blooming from inside his chest and spreading throughout his body with the speed of lightning.

_**Life to death to life eternal.**_

_Does that mean... I'm dying? Just like that? With no explanation whatsoever?_

Dread finally put a stop to the wild goose-chase it'd kept up against his sanity; as expected, it won, it _destroyed_ it till there was nothing left. Isaac witnessed how Nicole's smiled widened. She hadn't blinked a single time, something quite unnerving and disturbing, but the smile had never left her face.

"_Do you think it was because of your skill? Because of your luck? Think again," _Nicole was telling him, her lips unmoving, her expression blank. _"I never left your side. Of course, that you made it this far might've been because of your instincts, your intuition, but who laid out the path for you to follow?"_

Just when he thought he'd suffocate, Isaac snapped out of his momentary deadly paralysis and breathed in again, taking in much needed oxygen that set everything into motion again. It took him a few moments to regain his composure and be able to move, and when he perked up his head, Nicole was gone, so were the symbols and the red mist, the fear and the suffocating tension. In a daze, Isaac once again looked around the deck, searching for Nicole with a feeling of urgency and alert so intense he thought it'd mess up his mind even more than how it already was.

Then, a furious roar of rage.

It was instinctive: Isaac downloaded a stasis blast upon whatever was lurking in the shadows and saw the same monster he'd seen at the beginning: a deformed Nicole transformed into a Slasher making a mad dash towards him, blades raised high ready to impale him. During a brief instant that seemed like aeons, Isaac stared at the creature with as much surprise as the first time, witnessing how the effects of the stasis quickly wore off. The Slasher was already starting to move according to its frenzied speed and it was then and only then that Isaac reacted: turning on the balls of his feet, he swivelled to his right and reached out his arm towards the holographic control panel. By rough chance he grazed it with his fingertips before he fell to his knees; he was _so_ close!

The Slasher was near; he could feel its presence looming over him, he could see its shadow cast over his own figure as the claws got ready to attack him. Isaac scrambled upwards, panting and holding on to the consoles for support and dear life. He caught sight of communications panel; he reached for it, only to withdraw his hands seconds later before one of the claws fell mere inches away from his fingers. As his mind unconsciously screamed at him to watch out, panicking at how furiously the voices returned to him, Isaac turned around just in time to avoid the Slasher's -_Nicole!_- second attempt at sending him to Death's arms. With a yelp, Isaac rammed his boot into its abdomen, sending it a scant distance away from him. It was right then that he noticed his plasma cutter at his waist; he took aim as well as he could, the laser dots pointing directly at its arm, and Isaac fired.

Nothing happened.

The plasma rounds just went past the Slasher's arm and instead hit bullseye on the panel next to the door. The Slasher sprung to its feet as Isaac did nothing more than stare at it, the cutter trembling in his hands whilst his will to keep fighting vanished all of a sudden. Was it a hallucination? Was it real? He didn't know and he didn't care anymore. Out of instinct he tried to download another charge of stasis upon the monster yet a dull clicking told him he was out of it; what else was there left to do?

_Moving._

Isaac glanced to his right, to the Slasher and then to his right again: the communications panel. Without another single bit of attention directed towards the creature, Isaac pushed the button and started transmitting his message.

_Please, somebody find this..._

"Shuttle USG-09 transmitting, this is a distress message. If anyone receives this..." Isaac fell silent, hearing the Slasher's -_Nicole!_- snarls behind him, seeing how the claw's shadow cast itself upon him. When the holographic displays came up once more, he could see them all flashing red and crowded with symbols... the Marker's symbols. Isaac put two and two together before he could even think with logic: the last traces of the Marker's influence on him.

"...I'm still alive."

Another roar, and this time fiercer.

Isaac left the beacon active... then turned to face his opponent.

_**Make us whole again.**_

There was no noticeable transition between awareness and unconsciousness; one moment there was one, the next was the other: no signs of pain or any stimulant that made him relinquish his grip on reality.

Finally, peacefully, the world went black.

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_A/N: So, how was that for a start? There will be two more chapters and then it's over; I've decided to keep this as a three-shot. Any continuity errors or any other mistakes, you just tell me._

_Reviews are appreciated!^^_


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Okay, second chappie's here. You'll see I've used a few unseen characters that actually stick to their role, so I guess that my interpretations will be of your liking. If they're not, then I'm sorry... Really, I can't stress it enough. Judging by the log in the DS official site, I have tweaked Reinhardt and Sklar's personalities so that the voices suit them. Same goes for Samara (whom we still haven't seen or heard of). Anyway, enjoy reading!^^

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dead Space; copyright goes to Visceral Games.**

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II

Matters to Resolve

_**Attention: Dr. Samara Yasmin is requested in West Psychology Wing, please report there immediately. Repeat...**_

But Samara Yasmin didn't register the PA system's voice, not even a single syllable or sound. What she cared about was filing her report as soon as she could; she could allow herself no distractions. Samara quickly gathered her hair up in a haphazard tail and kept writing non-stop, making brief pauses to check and revise other reports to gather the necessary information. It was right when she wrote the actual date (January 5th, 2510) that her assistant, Jack Nichols, peeked inside as he knocked on the door of her office. With no remarks, Samara looked up as she placed the final stop and tilted her head at Jack.

"You're requested in Psychology, doctor," he reminded her, his tone ginger. Samara was as quick as always to stand up and slip out of her office, Jack having fallen in line behind her in silence. After a few seconds, she asked,

"What's this all about? I think I haven't heard this much ruckus in months, not since we got Keller inside." Her suspicions were proven correct the farther they went into the complex and neared the elevator that would take them a floor down: for some reason, she had the feeling they'd be bagging a new intern.

"We've been brought another patient," said Jack, making Samara's heart sink to her boots. The elevator reached their floor with a dull _ding_, but Samara wasn't listening to that. Instead, she focused on the voices she heard coming from the lower floor, voices full of alarm and despair as far as she could judge. "And believe me, I don't think we've seen people like him."

"You've already seen him?" asked Samara as she and Jack stepped inside the elevator and started their trip downstairs. Jack nodded, still sheepish.

"On my way up here. They're keeping him at the end of hall 2B, Cell 205... or they're at least trying to," he told her, looking down at his hands whilst Samara kept looking at him. Her gaze soon became unfocused as she wondered what the state of this new patient was. Knowing how protocol was followed, the most dangerous of patients were kept in cells at the end of the halls so that they weren't close to the halls should they attempt to escape, but not many had proven to be so reckless and frenzied. In fact, many of their patients were already following normal lives; even Samara herself had seen some of them in the streets of the colony.

What could have gotten this one?

Before she could notice, they were already at their destination. The same moment Samara stepped a foot outside, a deep horrified scream pierced the silence and echoed throughout the whole floor, rooting Samara to her spot and instilling a sense of fear she had never experienced before. Sure, she could've been afraid at patients that at first had seemed dangerous, but the fear she felt this time was much different, of a more intricate nature. With wide eyes she stared at the end of the hall, watching how a trio of security guards and two strangers were trying to keep another man inside his cell, but it was almost to no avail: this man kept fighting against his restraints with almost brute strength and conviction. She witnessed how the apprehended man made his way out of the barricade of people, seemingly having escaped, but he only took a mere step before tripping over and being pinned against the wall.

Samara was prompted to make a dash towards the group of people because of something she couldn't describe, but she still did. At midway she reduced her speed and approached the group with caution and apprehension, being another part of the scene that was taking place right in front of her eyes. Shouts continued to be the only sound she heard, also orders exchanged between her staff and the strangers, and there came a moment when Samara herself thought she'd have to leave. The man screamed about someone, a 'she', in need of assistance, in need of mourning, and he spoke of that at the top of his voice, struggling to break free once more.

"Hold him down, dammit! Stan, we need sedatives here!" said Jack, stepping forward to help, but nothing worked. In the end, the man -presumably her new patient- almost calmed down without the need of morphine but kept hyperventilating, his breathing loud and labored, and then Samara caught sight of his eyes. They were empty of all emotion save for horror and despair, possibly even determination. Then the two strangers stepped back. Samara shot a quick glance at them and then back at the newcomer, who shrank against the corner and hid his face from view.

"She... she needs my help... I-I have to get back to her, she's calling for me!" he chanted, his voice muffled and quivering. Samara knelt in front of him, laid a hand on his forearm as a comforting gesture, and he suddenly perked up his head, his bright teary eyes staring into hers. "Why'd you bring me here? I'm supposed to-to help her, dammit!

"I-I can't stay here!"

Samara closed her eyes, frowning and knowing he was looking for some kind of positive remark, something that would rekindle his hope, but there were no good news to deliver. At first, she said, "I'm going to help you get back to her, don't worry. You just have to listen to me, okay? You're safe here."

But he hastily shook his head. "No, no I'm not safe. I was safe with her, the nightmare is over but it will not end, it's not over, it's not over-"

"Hey, hey, calm down," Samara insisted, keeping a close eye on him. "You just have to stay here temporarily."

"For how long?"

Samara didn't respond immediately, knowing full well he couldn't and wouldn't cope with the truth so soon, but his eyes just begged for an answer. "For as long as necessary till you feel better. You're injured, we need to heal your wounds. I'll be back with you shortly, okay?"

That seemed to do some good. In the next few minutes, the man finally allowed himself to be locked up (without his actual knowing) and Samara's staff calmed down and returned to normal. Samara then focused her attention on the two strangers, who hadn't said a word during the whole scene.

"Are you the ones that brought him here?" she asked in the end, calling their attention. The tallest of them, a fair-skinned blue-eyed man, nodded at Samara and faced her.

"Yes; we just arrived today. Captain Maxmillian Reinhardt, Recovery Patrol X22376," he said, spreading out a hand which Samara shook with strength. "This is my second-in-command, Xander Sklar." Samara, as she shook hands with Xander, took in his appearance: amber eyes, black hair, apparently in his thirties and didn't seem too suspicious. Stealing one last glance at Maxmillian, Samara finally settled for her first opinion: she'd clash with this man many times should they meet again.

"Where did you find him?" she asked Maxmillian.

"Yothei system, almost twenty light years off here," he replied, succinct, and Samara frowned. The Yothei system was quite close to the Cygnus system, where the Aegis7 cluster was, and knowing what had happened there... Samara was already starting to have her suspicions about this newly-interned man.

"Do you have information on him? I'll have to prepare a medical report, why don't you come upstairs to my office?" she suggested, treading carefully. Maxmillian nodded without a word, so did Xander, and they headed back to the upper floor. The elevator ride was uncomfortable for Samara, and maybe even more when she asked, "So, EarthGov, right?"

She glanced back at Maxmillian, who met her gaze with an apparent lack of interest. Quite the laid-back guy, it seemed. With a quick peek at Xander, she could tell he'd also grown tense.

"Yes. Do we really have a display sign behind our heads?" jested the captain with a tilt of his head. Samara smiled out of courtesy, but oh how she would've liked to reply someway else.

"No, not exactly, but I've heard about X22376," she said with a light shrug. "My brother works at the docks; he's an engineer and takes care of... non-living recoveries." Playing cards without seeing them was something Samara never liked to do, but knowing these people were from EarthGov suddenly reminded her of the black blood there was between her and her brother, Rick. It was because of her firm faith and hope that he drifted away from her.

In that moment, the elevator's doors opened and Samara was more than glad to get out of that claustrophobic place. With a firm stance and gait, she crossed the hall to her office, accompanied by Maxmillian and Xander who followed closely behind. Finally taking advantage of the placement of the console under her doorknob (console which was at waist-height), she punched in her personal code and opened the door for both men.

"Shall we get down to business? I don't think it'll be long before he's assigned to me," Samara once more suggested with a thin voice. She knew she couldn't fake her true feelings very well, again getting that feeling because of the intense gleam of distrust in Maxmillian's gaze (though who knew? Maybe it was just her), and decided to keep the act going by sitting in front of her holographic panels.

"Please," she then prompted, gesturing at the seats at the other side of her desk, but only Xander sat; Maxmillian remained standing, and there she had another reason to grow more distrustful. What an awkward situation she'd gotten herself into. Never trust the government, or so her father had told her many times.

"His name is Isaac Clarke, Engineer and System's Specialist affiliated with the C.E.C.," started Maxmillian, folding his arms across his chest. "We dug up some information on him and he's got quite the past. He was assigned to the Kellion when they planned to go fix the Ishimura's blackout, but they were all caught up in the horror. We lost Kendra back there, and he was the only survivor of the whole thing."

Samara's eyes widened behind her glasses. "The Ishimura? By Altman, he must've... He must've seen the Marker, he might've even touched it! He's a lucky one."

"Well, whatever he did, it got him here so I don't think your piece of rock is all that marvelous," snapped Maxmillian, scowling at her. "He's a fucking nutjob now, he's lost it! We found him in a coma, he woke up from it almost a week later and since then he's been bitching and murmuring about it, also sketching Unitologist symbols like crazy; he sometimes couldn't stop sketching. He kept telling us he heard something, something that was really messing up his mind. I swear this is the most shaken-up man I've ever seen in my whole life."

Samara didn't counter Maxmillian's accusations towards the Marker and this Isaac Clarke, but she nevertheless found herself doubting her faith for a moment. Of course, Maxmillian didn't seem like a very trust-worthy person and what was clear was his dislike towards Unitology, so his words were certainly trivial: she had heard about the mass suicide in Union Square around a year ago in the Aegis7 colony, but she was certain those people -including Deakin Abbott- had heard God's voice. Even Samara had wondered when her turn would come. She would ascend and become part of a larger community which didn't have its foundations on the mortal world. Her beliefs wouldn't be changed because of some silly accusations coming from someone who was blind to the true meaning of her and everyone's religion.

"Isaac Clarke..." she echoed absentmindedly as she typed in his name into a new medical file. "I haven't heard anything about him and I certainly don't have any available info." Samara gave a low sigh. "He doesn't seem like he's up for much talk either."

In that moment, Maxmillian stepped forward and laid something under the holomonitor. When Samara had a better look at it, she noticed it was small quadrangular-shaped chip with a sphere in the center of it. She picked it up, pushed a button on its side and the projector flashed to life, showing her what seemed to be Isaac's file. Curious, she looked up at Maxmillian.

"We had one of our superiors fish some files from the C.E.C., with their permission of course." Maxmillian emphasized that last bit with a tinge Samara didn't know how to interpret: either mocking or contemptuous. "You have everything in there: medical history, curriculum, records and some other things we didn't touch," he explained with simplicity. "I take it he'll be interned here for as long as necessary?"

"No other way around this case, captain. It's after determining with precision what's Clarke's state that we'll set the time period." Samara confirmed with a nod. She stood up. "Thank you for your help; I will have everything into consideration." Maxmillian nodded this time.

"If there's anything else you require, you can always catch us at the port. We'll be here for a while till our ship's in condition," he said, his voice lower than before, more sinister. Samara nodded her response once more and with a dip of his head, Maxmillian left her office followed by Xander, who briefly turned around and said,

"Good luck, and Altman be praised."

"Altman be praised," Samara responded, noticing her tone somehow robotic. It had become a routine to say that phrase as farewell but she was somehow glad this man believed in what she held on a high regard. She then focused on reading Isaac's file, which took her quite a bit since there was no rush to be in. And though she already knew, she gaped in surprise at the file when she read about his assignation to the USG Kellion... April, 2508. According to the news, the two ships had been lost because of a terrorist attack on board the Ishimura, not to mention the USM Valor, but Samara knew better than that. According to Overseer Matthews -who was also close colleague and friend of Abbott's-, an engineer patrol had found another Marker on Aegis7 and before planetcrack, the Marker was extracted and carried aboard the Ishimura. She was sure all those people had ascended, had joined God; for a moment, she felt envious. Still, she had yet a lot of time to live her life.

After filing Isaac's report, Samara sighed, stood up and looked outside the window, admiring once more the scenery in front of her. Samara had been working as a psychologist in the Sprawl for more than ten years and though not originally from the colony, she had become familiarized with its structure as though she were a native.

The ambient was, naturally, busy and hectic: people were always going to and fro with things to do, miners and engineers always working around the mines, carrying out operations and extractions, ships docking and transporting the mined materials to planets around space... What was most appealing to her were the many colors the sky tended to show: sometimes yellow, sometimes dark lilac, sometimes both at the same time like that night. And that was a spectacle she never missed.

Samara had always wished to be part of something else, something bigger, and not just because of her religion. She felt confined inside the colony, like a caged bird craving to open its wings and soar the sky. She was native from Gliese, a well-known planet and a famous destination for citizens of the Sprawl. The planet, though famous because of its beaches and numerous services that offered many working positions, was not what Samara had been looking for and as such decided to migrate to the Sprawl in hopes of finding a new life. She found it, studied psychology in the local university in sector 1A5 and found herself a position in the mental hospital where she still kept working, now thirty-seven years of age.

Snapping out of her thoughts, Samara shook her head and after picking up a folder and her notebook, she left her office once more, catching sight of how the health bar of her RIG descended a few centimeters; there went her hundred-percent healthy state. She rubbed her eyes as she called the elevator again and as before, it took her little time to get back to the lower floor. Right when the doors opened, Jack appeared in front of her, his features grave and head a bit low.

"Something wrong, Jack?" she asked, stepping outside. "Any news on Clarke?"

For a moment, Jack seemed surprised. "That's his name?"

Samara nodded. "Yes, Isaac Clarke. Reinhardt handed me some info on him. In any case, what's his status?"

"Freaked out. I've never seen anything like him," he said, shaking his head, something which left Samara as surprised as before. "We had to clean him up with sedatives, doctor; he just wouldn't sit still."

"Did they kick in?" Samara asked, starting down the hall. At her question, Jack shook his head again.

"Not much. He fell asleep for a few minutes before shooting awake and retreating to a corner of the room like a scared child," he replied, wincing slightly. "Though that's not uncommon amongst many of our patients, there's... there's something different in him.

"Something different?" Samara echoed, itching for answers in spite of her suspicions about the case. "Different like what? Are there any similarities between him and other patients we've had so far?"

"Perhaps, I don't remember much," Jack confirmed. "He's just come in, so we'll just have to keep looking. I think he'll be up for the first assessment; the sooner, the better."

Samara couldn't agree anymore with her assistant and once more nodded as she started walking again. After motioning to Jack to stay behind, she looked through the small window into Isaac's room, only to find him having retreated into a corner and still hiding his face from sight, apparently having started to ramble again. Taking a deep breath, Samara entered inside very slowly, giving Isaac some time to recognize her, and he immediately did. He perked up his head, eyes yet wide in horror, and Samara had to swallow to keep herself from leaving.

"When am I going to get out of here?" Isaac asked in a rush, almost reeling it off like he'd rehearsed the question. "I have to leave! She needs my help!" He stood up, spreading out his arms in a sign of honesty and desperation Samara could only frown at. She stepped forward, a knot of anxiety in her stomach, and reached out to lay a hand upon each of his arms.

"It's going to be alright," she said, doubting it'd do anything. "How're you feeling now, Isaac? Are you better?" Samara tried to speak as soothingly as possible so that all would keep calm, avoiding the risk of being attacked. Isaac stared at her blankly, his gaze lost and glazed, then fell to his knees, still clutching Samara's hands. In awe, Samara did nothing but watch.

The assessment transpired without any problems, as opposed to what Samara had originally thought. Given Isaac's state and how shaken up he was, she didn't expect he'd reply to her question with such ease, simple questions about information she already had; it'd be better to keep facts off for the moment. In the end, Samara tried to comfort Isaac by telling him she'd be back by the next day, to which he blankly agreed as she left his room. Whatever Isaac's state was, Samara suddenly knew something had rubbed off on her.

xx

The Three Moons bar, a small quiet locale near the ship docks of the Sprawl where many people came either to drown their sorrows in their drinks or simply have them along someone else. Xander remembered having been there once in a while with his father... who had introduced him to his first shot of alcohol when he was merely eleven. He remembered the taste had been so bad he'd sworn he would never drink anything like that again... and there he was, with a mere glass of sparkling water in his hands; it was nice to see the bar still had its special things from Earth.

In front of him was Maxmillian, who was -contrary to Xander- indeed delighting in a small glass of whiskey. As they enjoyed the silence of the bar -of which they had occupied a far off corner-, Xander's mind wandered off to Isaac again and concern came once more. He remembered the few days Isaac had been with them on the ship and the many that had ended up injured after their attempts to calm him down. An unconscious shiver ran down his spine; he was in a mental hospital now, but who was he to determine if Isaac was safe at all?

"It kinda makes me uneasy to leave him there..." he suddenly said out loud.

As Maxmillian lifted his head ever so slightly to glance at him, Xander met his gaze with a brief look of his own and then allowed it to drift down to his drink again. Crestfallen, he moved the glass in circles, staring absently at the couple of ice cubes swirling around with dull clinks. The sound of Maxmillian's chuckle made him raise his head fully, now staring at his captain in distrust and apprehension. Maxmillian's crooked smirk sent a chill down his spine.

"Well, it's the best place we can leave him... unless you grew fond of him and want him on board again with us? Besides, it was crystal clear Yasmin was also a Marker-Head; I'm sure they'll get along just fine."

Indignant, Xander tilted his head to one side and deepened his frown. "It's not that, it's just..." He sighed. "Nothing, forget it," he then said with a flicker of his hand and a despondent shrug. Again, Maxmillian snorted a laugh and leaned forward, making Xander compose a full list of whatever reasons were keeping him in such a chipper mood.

"C'mon, kid, you know you can trust me," Maxmillian prompted, spreading his hands. "If it's something related to religion or such, you're in good company: I'm an atheist... but I tend to be biased, beware of that."

Before speaking again, Xander pursed his lips, taking a deep breath. "It's just... I keep thinking about Clarke and what you said in front of Dr. Yasmin about the Marker and such -or the piece of rock, as you tend and like to call it," he started in a downbeat mood. "I... Oh, man, my head's a complete mess, I-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down, Xan!" Maxmillian suddenly piped up, lifting his hands with an amused smirk. "Keep your ideas clear, boy, and speak aloud."

"I'm starting to have my doubts, Maxmillian, that's it," Xander asserted, slightly banging a hand on the table. "You know I tend to be biased towards Unitology as you are to its opposition; I can't help it, I was raised amongst Unitologists. I think we both saw in Clarke's medical history that there had been no anomalies during his whole career in the C.E.C. -health related, of course- but I just can't see any heads and tails to this situation; look at him, he's a complete nutcase! When you first said it was all because of the Marker, it came as a revelation a little bit too harsh. I've heard a lot of preachings from several people and they've all seemed... normal. I don't know, really..."

"You feel like you want to stop believing but at the same time you ask yourself: what would you do? It'd be like feeling lost," Maxmillian said, his tone making Xander aware of his slight absentmindedness. For a moment, he could even sense a slight degree of melancholy in his words. "Though you want to forget, you're afraid; you think your life wouldn't have any meaning or course."

"You're an atheist but you sure know about religious people and their feelings," Xander shot back, leaning back in his seat.

"It's not about being an atheist or not," Maxmillian replied with a shake of his head; the melancholy had disappeared. "It's about feeling it yourself, though I finally gave myself a good kick in the ass and told myself to forget about the word 'religion' and the many it encompasses. Then, it's just living at your own leisure; let me tell you, you don't have a lot of worries save for those that accost you in your everyday life."

Xander shrugged. "I mean, I've seen zealotry everywhere and I myself don't want to reach that far. It'd be stupid, if you ask me, and that's coming from a devout one."

Maxmillian smiled. "You were always very modest, kid. It wouldn't surprise me if you saved yourself from becoming this kind of fuck-up around here, especially given the fact that we're going to stay here for some time _and _there's a church."

"Yeah, which is why I recommend we don't lift our voices too much," Xander shot back, absently taking a hand to his chin. He sighed. "I don't think Unitology has as much as it offers."

"Of course they don't have that much, Xander, and you've known that all this time," Maxmillian claimed with a firm nod. "You know EarthGov has always been behind keeping all Rock-related matters under the rug; hell, we even killed Altman so that it all was kept secret, for God's sakes!"

"Keep it down!" Xander suddenly urged, his voice a bare whisper. "I quote you, there's a church here and there's influence _everywhere_! The last thing we need is trouble!" Whilst Xander started glancing around like paranoid -something he couldn't sometimes help- Maxmillian chortled once more.

"I know, I know," he said, "I'm just stating facts. Oh, and careful where you look... you got the bartender staring at us already." Xander caught glance of said person, who was indeed staring at them sideways, and he swivelled his head around to look down at his glass again, feeling how his cheeks grew warm. "Hell, kid, you're a handful." Then, as Xander looked at him again, he grew serious. "As worried as I am for Clarke -listen well, because you know he's a carbon copy of all the crazed colonists in Aegis7 that went all head-fucked because of the rock-"

"Maxmillian!"

"-we're going to have to kill him."

Xander felt his features paling at an incredible rate, his eyes widening and a painful knot of sickness getting caught in his stomach. "Wh...what?" The gleam in Maxmillian's eyes didn't help at all calm his rising panic. "N-no! I-I won't kill anyone." Xander tried to keep himself from hyperventilating; he'd never thought the moment would come. "Did you get orders from up high?" Noticing how Maxmillian's mouth had dared to twitch into a smirk, Xander rushed to add, "And no puns intended."

Seemingly ignoring his last remark, Maxmillian nodded. "Last time I stood up and went outside wasn't exactly to clear my head: I've kept, until now, Garth's call a secret from you. We still hold Unitology as a purely scientific religion, hence why I make fun of all the Marker-Heads I find in my way and my attitude is like so towards certain matters, and we're going to keep it as such. That doesn't prevent us for covering things at our own leisure, as much as it dismays me to say it. Garth's one of the many that holds Unitology as something else, and Clarke's dangerous for all of them."

"Do we have a time limit?" Xander asked, hiding his trembling hands. "Clarke's just been interned! We can't just rush there and put him out of his misery."

"We're not going to do it ourselves, Xander, that I assure you," said Maxmillian, "not after rescuing him from whatever hell he went through; I'm not that heartless. Right now, our top priority is to maintain _these_ events from the public, and you know which I'm referring to, right?" Xander nodded during Maxmillian's pause. "Clarke knows almost everything, he's rambling about what he saw: the phrases, his behavior, the hallucinations, his mental state... It all matches with what happened to the colonists in Aegis7 and if he actually manages to fully recover -something I highly doubt- and starts spreading the word, we're finished and so is Unitology.

"Try and see it all like everyone in the organization: covering it up is what we are forced to do, not to mention some do it gladly. Think for a moment how much ruckus Clarke's revelations would cause _if_ someone actually took him seriously, which is something I don't doubt the least; I myself would stick right behind him should I have been your average citizen. It'd be complete and absolute pandemonium. Garth and the highs want to keep everyone under their control with no-one to go rogue, Xander. In short and as we'd say, Isaac Clarke is dangerous; he's the rogue element, the missing piece of the puzzle."

Xander looked away in angst, knowing as an EarthGov agent that Maxmillian was right. "I never thought we'd have to do this. It's just like it happened with Altman, like you said."

"He was also dangerous, Xan," Maxmillian spoke with a nod. "The scientists in charge of deciphering the rock's symbols were all from the organization; imagine if everyone knew that thing was alien! Theories would've sprung up, rumors, curious people; it'd all have been a disaster. But then Altman started preaching about it, preaching about eternal life and all that bullshit I staunchly refuse to believe in. We had to dispose of him; if not, I don't know what would've happened but it would've been bad, that's for sure."

"I know that, Maxmillian," Xander said. "It got me by surprise, that's all. What can a man like Clarke do, anyway? He's one against the whole universe! He wouldn't make a single bit of difference!"

"It may be stupid to say that one man can make a difference, but I've seen that with my own eyes," Maxmillian replied, shaking his head. "I didn't sign up to kill people; what they did with Altman was their problem, and you can see his death didn't help people to calm down." He sighed. "But now it's my duty, and I won't fail as an agent. Not when I've got a lot to lose; I'm not risking so many lives over my pride... your life included," he said, the gleam in his eyes telling Xander he was dead serious. With a faint smile, Xander raised his glass and said,

"To atheism."

"So now you're officially a non-believer, huh?" Maxmillian questioned with a smirk before downing his drink. "You surprise me; you change fast."

"I'm not done with Unitology yet; I may have to get some advice from the Overseer," Xander shot back after taking a small swig of his own. Maxmillian coughed after putting down his glass, giving Xander a small hint of what had just happened.

"Advice? From the Overseer?" Xander couldn't list the reason of Maxmillian's disbelief, but he sure got a clue. "Go ahead, be my guest, but I suggest you prepare yourself: you're going to laugh your ass off, and I'm not kidding. Everything I've told you, he'll definitely turn it upside down, transform it in a typical preaching for you to keep in line like a good puppy."

"Don't be so radical, captain," Xander said, his tone much calmer. "I said I'd listen, not _heed _it. I still have a lot of things to see and judge for myself, some files to read and a bit of research to do. I'm not going to be fooled any longer; I won't allow it. Though..."

"Though what?" Maxmillian insisted, his typical crooked smirk plastered across his weary features again. "You're not thinking of causing ruckus, are you? We'd get kicked out of the Gov in no time and_ that _is not something I'd recommend. We still have our lives to maintain and I have my taxes to pay, so do you."

Xander remained pensive for a minute, thoughts racing through his head, until he finally set his glass down and looked into Maxmillian's eyes, holding his gaze for a brief but long moment. Once more, Maxmillian widened his smirk.

"I think you're thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Tongue-twister, huh?" Xander jested, genuinely smiling.

"Don't get your panties in a bunch out of impatience, Xander; we don't know what Garth's gonna say about most of this matter, but we have one thing certain: this job goes for someone else." Maxmillian shot back, leaning back in his seat. "We just have to wait till we get assigned some other task; in the meantime, free as birds... relatively."

And so, Xander had to agree. With no information, no orders and no progress, patience was all they had. Xander knew that, with time, the chaotic mess that were his thoughts would get cleared up.

Patience was the key; there was still unfinished business to take care of.

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_A/N: So, that builds up a bit more of the situation behind the whole "Killing Isaac" thing, considering (I think) EarthGov is after him. Next time, we deal with how Isaac's holding up and a bit of a build-up of the start of DS2. That will be long, too, so you're in for a read. Oh, any typos - tell me xD_

_Reviews are appreciated!^^_


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the late update; exams have been killing me. Okay, another Isaac-centric chappie and this one's the final! The end obviously leads to the start of the events of DS2, but when the demo comes out and it actually plays on the beginning of the game itself, this is getting shot down xDD Anyway, here you go and thanks everyone for your support. Enjoy and thank you once more!^^

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dead Space; copyright goes to Visceral Games.**

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III

I've Got You Devolving Under My Skin

After reading his medical file, courtesy of the doctor in charge, Isaac could finally get a hint of how messed up he was: one week and a half long coma, then PTSD, dementia, dyskenesia, paranoia... He'd memorized the file's contents, sometimes reeled them off to convince himself... but of what? His state was inevitable. Strangely enough, maybe obviously, Isaac didn't feel the webs of insanity anymore; maybe he'd already killed the spider and accepted its nature into his own. Whilst the flickering fluorescent lights of his room kept buzzing and disturbing his silence, Isaac absently moved his hand across the floor from one direction to another, his gaze fixed upon it but mind going astray and relinquishing its grip on reality. To his fortune he had been confined into his cell without a straitjacket; well, straightjacket or not, what difference would it make?

His face was a blanched visage of apathy and weariness; his gaze, though glazed and lackluster, still had an insane gleam in them that was only emphasized even further by the dark rings under his eyes: insomnia was a curse, _his _curse. They showed all but what they were meant to: nothing more than a corroded Isaac Clarke, a _dead_ Isaac Clarke that wouldn't return even if asked to. His unrelenting state of apathy had isolated him from the rest of the world: he didn't know the current date, where he was... Many doctors, as well as Isaac himself, had seen that he couldn't find his way around a place that wasn't his cell; not that he'd been out of it many times, though. He didn't talk, he barely moved, he didn't even blink given his vegetative-like state, something those many doctors had assumed that was possible in him, but Isaac was still well aware of everything that went on around him. He just didn't like to prove it.

Lifting his other hand, Isaac scratched at the bandages wrapped around his wrist for the hundredth time, ignoring Dr. Yasmin's numerous warnings and her staff's threats. Again, he drew blood from his persistent tries, and nothing had ever seemed so enthralling to him, nothing save for listening to the constant voices in his head. Those many doctors had also tried to obtain clearance to transfer him to another level of the institution, and others had also tried it by force with intense sedatives: all those tries were foiled by Isaac's persistence. If there was something he could be going aside from mental, it certainly wasn't disabled. Remembering his macabre exploits and how he'd almost killed one of those doctors, Isaac smiled a dark grin of contempt. People could be so foolish...

He focused his attention on the symbols he was tracing with the tips of his two main fingers, thinking of the maniacal sketches he'd carved around the room in hysterical fits of panic that had led him to develop sadomasochistic tendencies. It worried him, though why fight them? Pieces of proof of those tendencies were the injured doctor (whom he couldn't care less about) and his own wrists, not to mention the ragged scars on his temple. That had been the results of his attempts to tell Dr. Samara Yasmin he had to return, that he had to help_ her_, that _she_ was in need of assistance, in need of mourning. But they had never listened, had never attempted to understand him. Isaac wished they all burned in the deepest pit of Hell. Again, a sense of macabre persistence assailed him: he had to be set free.

Just like always, he once more heard an infinite number of muted voices in the back of his mind, randomly knocking on his consciousness' door to cross it and bring chaos to his too fragile psyche, and it looked like they were about to achieve their goal. All of a sudden the door to his cell opened and unlike other times Isaac had freaked out and looked up in horror to whoever had come inside, this time he didn't bother to lift his head. He knew very well who it was, and it seemed they were accompanied by someone he didn't recognize. Isaac remained unmoving, secluded in his personal corner of the room, hearing how the people stepped inside, sensing her escalating breathing and his calm demeanor, and then the routine started.

"Identification: patient one-five-four-four-C, Isaac Clarke. Intern number one-six-oh-nine," he reeled off in a parrot-like fashion. It was about pleasing the doctor, it was about getting this over with as soon as possible so that he was left alone again, just like he wanted to be. "Is it correct this time, Doc?"

Isaac peered up at Dr. Samara Yasmin, who said, "Y-yes, Isaac, it is correct. It seems you're not likely to forget, are you?" Isaac remained silent, scoffing inwardly at her patronizing tone. "I'm here to discuss something with you." Preserving the same stone silence, Isaac patted the floor twice and sighed with the intention Samara would keep going. "Tell me this: what happened in Aegis7?"

Fingers balled into a fist, Isaac exclaimed, "Why is it the same question over and over again? I've already told you: I don't remember jackshit about it! I don't know, nothing comes back, it's all GONE!"

Why couldn't he remember? Why was it all gone?

Fury seized hold of him as he realized how empty his mind was, how little data it had stored, and all from his stay at that godforsaken place. He saw symbols again, tempting him to take a dramatic course of action, mindless and instinctive like an animal's. It was hunt or be hunted.

Whilst noticing Samara's distress at his reaction, he couldn't care less about it. Isaac was tired of being interrogated about events he didn't remember the slightest thing about, interrogated about unknown names that were still strangely familiar to him, names like Daniels or Ishimura. He'd always believed he'd come from another place, or maybe he'd been there as an intern his whole life, but those names rang no bells. And try as he might, Isaac couldn't get anyone to get him out from the dark.

"I've brought someone who might be able to help you remember," said Samara, her voice thin.

"_It's such a pity to see you in this state, Mr. Clarke."_

Isaac's eyes grew wide at the sound of that voice, soft and something soothing if it wasn't for the tinges of mockery and contempt that dripped from it. His head shot up to look at the stranger, driven by some twisted sense of curiosity and a very well known one of horror, only for his suspicions to be confirmed: in front of him stood Challus Mercer, looking down at Isaac with the same contempt his voice had made Isaac aware of. Paralyzed, barely catching the muted warnings and calls that rang somewhere off in the distance, Isaac stared in utter and raw horror into Mercer's eyes, almost begging for his life to be spared. Though Mercer made no move towards him, Isaac tried to scramble away from his looming figure, only to be stopped by the wall behind him: he was trapped like a mouse before a viper.

"N-no, no, NO! Get away! No, not him!" Isaac yelled at the top of his lungs, unable to make his terror subside... there was no need to. The world around him changed, became a dimensionless void of infinite darkness, and Isaac was trapped within it... with Mercer as his companion. His mind was quick to tell him to get the hell out of there, but where to run? And how? Isaac was paralyzed in unbeatable fear, still staring into Mercer's eyes like there was no end to time; he started hyperventilating, his chest rising and falling with astounding and dangerous quickness, and then Mercer stepped up to him, slowly, almost gingerly, but in a way that send shivers down Isaac's spine over and over again.

"_It's not over between us."_

But that voice wasn't Mercer's, was no-one's. It was then that Isaac finally sprung to his feet and backed away from Mercer, images of blood and his crazed yells running through his mind like they always did. Try as he might though, he couldn't move an inch, only his body which kept trembling uncontrollably. And like many other times, he could just find solace within the voices that kept ringing in the back of his mind, singing and reciting a mad symphony. He had accepted the voices wouldn't leave him, so it was better to hold them close like the partners they were during times of desperation and solitude, voices that constantly reminded him of the Marker, the relic that had changed his life completely.

_**The cure is the sickness. The sickness is the cure.**_

His sickness was killing him, giving him life at the same time: life through the truth, life through signs and symbols that made no apparent sense until they were considered and understood. Then, the voices spoke clearly and strongly, with the intensity of the raging water of a waterfall.

_It's time to let go, Isaac. _

Isaac took both hands to his head, immediately seeking to silence all the voices and put an end to their macabre concert. "Make it stop... make it stop..."

But there was nothing to impede the voices and his bizarre thoughts from coming and flooding his mind once more, taking over his most basic of functions and leaving him with only instinct to rely on: he had to run. He couldn't see which way to go; he had no solid ground upon which he could rest one bare foot, there were no lights that showed him the way out of that nightmare, out of the door-less void. Isaac kept running, no signs of exhaustion to be felt, and he went on and on and on... He glanced back over his shoulder to check if Mercer was following; it was only then that he realized what had happened.

Isaac hadn't moved a single inch from his place: Mercer still stood there, looking down at him with his contemptuous smirk as exhaustion came like a tidal wave that washed over him, merciless and unrelenting. He couldn't keep on running; it'd be pointless!

With no reason to move, Isaac stayed still looking at Mercer, but then there was pain, accompanied by a deafening ringing in his ears that made him lose focus. With just his hands to help him shield his ears from the noise, Isaac pivoted on his heel aimlessly, wandering away from the source of the ringing.

But as he found out milliseconds later, it was all in his head.

_It's time to let go, Isaac. _

"Make it stop! Make it stop, goddammit!"

The more he screamed and begged for all to stop, the more intense it all became. There was no stopping it; it all kept coming as bizarre images of gore and cacophonies of horror and despair, as opposed to the blankness there had once been within Isaac's mind. It had been empty, but now it was overflowing with all the memories he'd tried to repress and forget about; quite the impossible task.

"You made it, Isaac. Seems you finally realized, huh?"

There. Another familiar voice.

The voices fell silent and Isaac swivelled around with a gasp, not failing to recognize the voice and person in front of him. Part of his fear was replaced by rage as he stared into the eyes of Kendra Daniels, who stood with her arms folded across her chest and her lips cracking a smile, crooked and filled with malice. Isaac felt his hands trembling, his mouth dry and throat raw, all accompanied by a constant pounding in his temples, painless yet unnerving. Kendra took some steps closer to him, keeping some distance between them.

"Kendra?" Isaac breathed out, barely keeping his composure. Kendra's smirk widened for a brief instant, but then her expression became blank, something at which Isaac stared with bafflement. "What are you doing here?"

"Finally you noticed," she said, shaking his head and completely ignoring Isaac's question. "Took you long enough, huh? A few tries and there you go."

"Cut the crap: _what_ have I noticed?" Isaac asked back, frowning with increasing apprehension.

"First went Mercer, then Kyne, then- I mean, _everyone_, whatever order they followed," Kendra continued aimlessly. When she noticed Isaac's constant stare and deep frown, she told him, "You've finally accepted you're insane, Isaac... just like I told you. Your brain got you here, your own fucked up mind."

Isaac found his chance to shoot back a retort. "You weren't any different from me, Kendra. You were also influenced by the Marker," he told her, "or don't you remember the times you told me about your brother?" Kendra shrugged, nonchalant.

"That might've been so, but at least I didn't let the thing control me like it did with you," she replied. "It manipulated you and you didn't notice. Kyne never did either, but you get my point."

Isaac was starting to lose patience. "Why are you here, Kendra? Why?"

"Because you want me to," she said simply, leaving Isaac more baffled than before. "I'm a mere figment of your imagination, and quite the real one. You're alone, you don't have anyone, you're secluded and disconnected from the rest of the world... you miss Nicole, too..."

The way Nicole's name left Kendra's lips infuriated Isaac to incredible extents. It clearly showed, he knew, in the way he clenched his fists and jaw. "Don't you dare say her name, you traitor!"

At this, Kendra laughed. "Aw, Isaac, always the formal guy. Listen to yourself and those second-rate insults: why do you keep everything bottled up? Why don't you let it go?" she then asked him, spreading her hands. Isaac drew in a sharp breath, realizing her words had been the voices' moments ago. "Release it, you know you want to. Why don't you an end to all that's going on?"

It came as a slap: what was his objective?

Blinking rapidly, Isaac looked away from Kendra. "It's-it's true... she-she needs my help..."

Isaac suddenly felt panic rising, his heart thumping in his ears, shivers wracking his body again: he was losing control over himself, he couldn't stop it. Out of instinct he turned around and faced Kendra again, who seemingly caught his intentions faster than he could be aware of them. On the verge of breaking down, Isaac stared at her as her features mellowed, and the only phrase that she pronounced sent Isaac's head spinning.

_Make Us Whole Again._

Everything around him began to change, to morph into something else, but Isaac was so focused on his own insanity that it all went unnoticed for him. Suddenly, it was all a flash of white, red and black. Something heavy was pinning him down to solid ground and there were voices all around, noisier than the ones that kept singing with melancholy. Screams rang in his ears and it took him some time to understand they were his own; they were leaving his throat sore and in pain.

Again... he was with those many doctors.

There was no way he could stop his own yells; there came a time when they were an endless succession of noises that did nothing more than torment him, there came a time when they were instinctive, they didn't have a purpose. His own body seemed like up in flames that sent him writhing in agony, as if his own desires had backfired on him. Aimlessly, he swung his arms around with his eyes closed; when he opened them, it took him more than a millisecond to register what he was staring at, what was pinning him down... and why the sudden stench of death.

Again... a necromorph.

Its almost decomposed face was naturally spattered with dry and fresh blood, its massively long teeth dripping with it as the creature opened its jaws to their maximum; Isaac had never been so scared of a creature like those until now... it was even worse than the first time. Like many other times, he started struggling to lift its weight off him, to prevent it from sinking its teeth into his flesh and draw almost fountains of blood. It was a frenzy, a mad fight to save his life.

"-the hell?" he heard someone say- someone?

But Isaac paid no heed to it. "Get it off me! GET IT OFF!"

It was the first time he screamed intelligibly, at last making someone aware of what was going on, but the necromorph didn't leave his sight; it was still there, still trying to kill him. The stench was so overwhelming Isaac was already feeling sick, and sicker than ever before. With a sudden surge of adrenaline and his basic instincts kicking in, terrified, with no sense of direction or awareness, Isaac sprung to his feet as he fought against the heaviness that attempted to keep him under its control. Right now it was a matter of strength and Isaac's supplies of strength were far from empty.

Gradually, it all became clearer to him: he had crossed a door, having slammed it open, and was running as fast as in his nightmare. But was this still his nightmare, his imagination, or was it reality already? Whatever it was, it felt surreal, as if his own brain was making everything up. When he fell though, Isaac considered the pain to be as real as it always was.

It wasn't pain, but _agony_.

"Pin him down!" he heard someone say. In a flash, it all came back: the hospital, the cell, the staff... Samara.

Samara; he had to find her! Yet the more Isaac tried to think, the closest he was to being imprisoned again, the closest he was to losing his long-sought freedom, and he could not allow that. It was then that his instincts kicked in once more, like many other times, and as ironic as it was, he pictured himself being trapped by a horde of the horrible creatures he'd fought back some time ago -_how long?_. He pictured himself once more aboard the Ishimura, once more surrounded by necromorphs, once more witnessing a macabre spectacle of violence and gore.

It was his only chance.

"That's it! We got him!" some other person said at the same time Isaac saw a dangerous-looking needle in their hand. Before anything happened, pain exploded throughout his body like a bomb going off, then it appeared on his face and his chest and he soon understood: a beating. A bitter taste in his mouth: blood; a warm feeling on his cheeks: blood; a crimson liquid staining a white surface: blood...

That which trailed down his hand and arm: _**blood.**_

_What just happened? What am I doing?_

The realization dawned upon him like a heavy rock: had he... killed someone? Had he gone that far? After a few seconds of deafening silence, Isaac was lifted up from the collar of his garment and was slammed against something hard -_the wall, most likely._

This doctor's expression was one of rage and and disdain, Isaac could feel his own being one of indifference yet with slight fear; he could feel it in how the corners of his mouth were twitching. Then, a punch which sent him down to the floor again; then, a kick that made him remember the many other times his stomach had wretched and he'd only thrown up blood; then, an angry yell that would leave an impression on his mind, like a mark that wouldn't be erased.

"You fucking Marker-Head!" they screamed at him. "Haven't you had enough, you sick bastard? I should've seen it coming; damn straight I should have!"

Isaac tried nothing against the verbal and physical onslaught against him, he just remained lying still upon the ground, staring at his gleaming, bloodied hand.

"Are you listening to me, you Unitologist bastard?"

"_Doctor Janssen!" _

This yell was more than intense; it was high-pitched, of inhuman intensity, and this one did call Isaac's attention. He stirred and faced upwards, only to find the person he had been looking for: Doctor Samara Yasmin stood some meters behind him, a deep scowl on her dark features, her eyes gleaming fiercely.

"What the hell is this all about?" she asked, her tone low and menacing. Doctor Janssen -with whom Isaac had just been acquainted with and not in the best of ways- didn't seem to care about his deeds against Isaac.

"This bastard's attacked Moira; he even left her unconscious, for hell's sakes!" he shouted back. "I should've known he was a head-fucked Marker-Head! He's insane, a fucking nutcase!"

"What are we here for then, doctor?" Samara shot back, stepping forward. "We're here to cure these people."

"There's no cure for him or for _you, _you lying bitch!"

At this comment, Isaac couldn't help a surreptitious chuckle. He was right on the point, or so one side of his mind said.

"What are you trying to hide from us, huh?" Janssen continued. "This all started after he was accepted here months ago! It's all gotten worse; you should've left him back with the EarthGov!"

Samara gave one fierce step forward. "I will carry out my own decisions according to my criteria!" she claimed. "If you are not satisfied with how we work here, the door is open for you to leave this place and leave the patients to me!"

Isaac witnessed the scene with false yet genuine amusement: a Marker-Head? Unitologist? They were terms horribly familiar to him, yet why was he being called that? He thought about the scribbles and his sketches: was it all because of that?

_I'm just following my instincts. I know that doing that, I'll be one with the universe. I know-_

"-it's calling for me," he suddenly started chanting. He noticed Janssen and Samara looking down at him. Fully aware of this, Isaac continued. "I know I'll be one with them, I'm just following my instincts. They hold the answer- she needs my help, we have to mourn all the dead; they need that. They-"

"See?" Janssen shouted back. "He keeps chanting, he doesn't stop! This one is bad news for us, I know it! As such, doc, I'm leaving my post, my work and this institution. When the time comes, you'll see I was right. _He is not normal._"

And just like that, Janssen stormed past Samara and disappeared up the stairs, leaving them in complete silence. Isaac stared up at Samara, feeling his eyes getting droopy, then she looked down at him. It was in that moment that the chanting returned-

_**Can you hear the symphony?**_

-and there was nothing Isaac could do to fight its enticing melody. Clinging to the soft melody of the voices, he could do nothing more than welcome his state of dreamless slumber.

_Twinkle, twinkle little star..._

* * *

_**Six months later.**_

A line down, then to the right. Another line down, then again to the right. Then, a line up and a small circle.

Isaac withdrew the scalpel from the cushioned wall and stared at the last letter he'd written. With all the calmness in the world, he rolled onto his side, brought his knees up to his chest and sighed. He repeated the sentence until his throat felt dry and his tongue hurt. He had nothing better to do, nothing better than coping with his loneliness and the constant ringing in his ears. The ringing had started not long enough after he'd started carving the letters onto the wall. Isaac scratched his wrist with the scalpel, lifted the scabs once more, but they didn't bleed anymore. But he kept trying, going as far as to incise a small cut on his palm. It stung, it bled and it hurt like hell. Isaac wanted to scream out, but he knew nobody would be listening. In those six months he had been there, isolated from the world and caged like a beast, he had learnt that he was alone, that there was nobody as insane as he was. During passive moments of aimless observation, he had witnessed the intern of the cell across him change from ecstatic to enraged in mere milliseconds. He had also seen others in a catatonic state, and others with arms full of open wounds. But nobody talked like he did. Nobody said what he said. Nobody did what he did.

He was different. He wasn't normal.

And to get the title of 'normal person' was what Isaac wanted to do with all his might. Six months, eighteen sessions in total and no positive improvement. Isaac had noticed during the latest sessions that he had been going downhill, that not much was expected from him. As such, he had let his mind wander off into another world, a world in which he heard without listening, in which he looked without seeing. But his last session had been different from the previous ones: he had obeyed and his subconscious had betrayed him. With no control over himself, he had chanted that which his mind wanted him to chant, did what his mind wanted him to do, and that had reduced the probabilities of his recovery down to zero or even beyond. Isaac knew he wouldn't recover any time soon, though; if not, why was he still there? He blinked a few times, reading the sentence he'd written on the wall for the fifteenth time.

_Help me._

"HELP ME!"

Isaac heard that scream, only he paid no attention to it. He imagined it was one of the other interns. Then, the sound of somebody choking on their own blood reached his ears, and that was more than enough to snap him out of his reverie. Isaac turned to face the door, slowly rising to his feet, and kept hearing screams and growls and roars... Roars? Growls? Since when had the doctors kept an animal inside the facilities? Isaac neared the door, put a hand on it and with just a slight push, it opened. But it opened very slightly, as if there was something in its way. Isaac poked his head around the door and gasped at the sight.

Blood.

There was blood everywhere: on the floor, on the walls, on the other doors. With it, there were bodies... _dismembered _bodies. There were limbs scattered all around the hall, bodies mangled and adopting macabre positions. Isaac opened the door further, pushing against the weight that impeded it from opening, and he then saw that that weight was the torso of a doctor. It was even impossible to distinguish if he was male or female: their body had been disfigured beyond recognition. Isaac stepped outside his cell, staring at such an atrocious scenery, feeling warm blood soaking his feet. It was obvious it was more than dangerous to venture down the hall to explore, but Isaac did nevertheless. The facilities were a complete mess.

He headed for the mess hall following the floor plans posted on the walls. He had not even put a foot inside when a growl came from the other side of the door. Isaac backed away, retreated to the corner to his right and curled up into a ball. The panic that seized him didn't let him think, only told him to stay quiet and not to move. The door to the mess hall opened. Isaac took a hand to his mouth: he knew a gasp or a sigh in shock would come. He was shaking like a leaf and for a moment, he forgot where he was. One of those disfigured bodies... _A necromorph..._ stepped into the hall. Its blades were stained wih fresh blood that dripped onto the cold floor. Isaac knew _what_ he was looking at: a Sharpblade...

_I know that name... I came up with it! B-but... where? And when?_

Isaac stared on as the creature fortunately headed to the cell area he'd come from, leaving behind a trail of bloody footprints and a horrible stench. When the monster was out of sight, Isaac released his breath and looked at his hands. He knew what that creature was... he knew how to kill it.

_I've done it before... I-I'm sure I have. If I dismember it, I can kill it._

But how to do it? He was defenseless; not for long, though. Isaac had a peek inside the mess hall, scouting the area for any other monster, then crawled inside as silently as he could. The scenery was similar or worse than the one at the cell area. He could tell most of the staff had been killed there; the stench of blood was killing his sense of smell. It was when he bumped his hand against a fallen chair that Isaac noticed he had been holding the scalpel all along.

_Time to replace it with a better weapon._

A few tables ahead of him, Isaac noticed an axe lying down next to a corpse. Hesitation took hold of him: what if there were more of those things?

_If that's the case, then I can kiss my life goodbye._

Isaac crawled towards the weapon. A thought popped up in his mind all of a sudden: he hadn't yet noticed, but he was already thinking clearly, more clearly than he had in months. Knowing that rationality was once again by his side -perhaps not for long-, he continued with a bit more of a better mood. Once he was close enough to the axe, Isaac reached forward and grabbed it. The handle felt warm to the touch and its blade was already bloody. He would've thought those people hadn't had a chance to not even tickle one of those things. Perhaps the axe had been used for something else but regardless, it was still a weapon and Isaac could use it.

Suddenly, a body burst through the door and landed on the other side of the table. Isaac was horrified: that man was also dead. There was a gaping hole in his chest and his arm had been torn off. Contrary to what was sensible, Isaac scrambled up to his feet and jogged to the other door. He opened it slowly, having a look outside, but there was nothing there. Nothing except corpses and blood. Isaac fell on his knees, staring at the gruesome display of blood and guts.

_What's going on here?_

Everybody was dead. Everybody except _him._ Why? Perhaps because the monsters hadn't found him yet, perhaps because they were keeping him for last; Isaac didn't know. What he _did_ know was that survival now was his top priority. No matter what he had to do or kill.

He had to escape.

* * *

The End.


End file.
